Giggles
by AnalystProductions
Summary: "Wait, so the past few weeks you haven't been trying to make me laugh you've been trying to make me giggle?" - In which Sherlock hears John giggle and wants to hear it again because he thinks it's cute. Fluff ensues. S/J oneshot.


Wow- I haven't updated anything on here for _so long. _I'm sorry guys! It's been a hectic, busy, busy year and I have a nice long summer to indulge in fandom :)

So I watched BBC Sherlock FINALLY and it's amazing, so addictive and brilliant. - and then I realised something, Sherlock and John need to be canon like NOW!

I couldn't help but starting to read fanfic and then get ideas...

This is written in quite a different style to some of my other things on here, it's direct and simply written - trying to use the character's emotions and thoughts more to dictate the story as opposed to my usual over-describing. This is part Sherlock POV and part John!

Hope you like it! :)

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><p><strong>GIGGLES.<br>A Sherlock/John Fic.**

John placed a hand to his mouth and the sound that slipped out filled Sherlock with surprising warmth. Giggles. John was _giggling. _Sherlock had never heard John giggle before. He had _chuckled _sure, laughed a bit but _giggled – _no. One thing Sherlock was positively certain about was that John's giggling was adorable. The detective's eyes widened at his own deduction. Wait- _adorable? _Did he find this concept adorable? …since when did he find _anything _adorable?

The Doctor _giggled _again.

Yes. Adorable. Definitely adorable, almost _more _adorable than his cosy sweaters and slightly podgy torso. There was only _one _problem with this giggling- it was at the fat man who Sherlock couldn't remember the name of on the _television. _An irrational overload of jealousy flared up inside the man. Why had John never giggled at _him? _

Reaching for the remote, he switched the device off with great force.

"Why do you continue to watch that?" Sherlock asked with a hint of exasperation. His mind maintained its internal rambling. What was it about the fat man on television that brought John so much glee? And why was _he _unable to get the same reaction?

Glancing over his shoulder at the bewildered detective, John reached for the remote still in good spirits from his dosage of stand-up comedy, but rather childishly Sherlock moved it out of reach.

"Because it's _funny." _The Doctor's voice was laced in mirth, and Sherlock couldn't understand why he was sad this mirth had no association to him. He'd never been sad when people didn't find him funny before. But then again, he seemed to be experiencing more _and more _strange, almost human, feelings with John.

"Well _I'm _funny," he boasted, folding his arms over his chest. "but you _never _sit and watch _me_." John glanced over at his pouting flatmate, arms crossed in a tantrum.

"_Sherlock-" _John found himself suddenly talking to Sherlock's back as the detective threw himself dramatically onto the sofa (the Doctor could've _sworn _he'd heard a 'humph' with the action also). Rolling his eyes, John pressed his lips tightly together before attempting to speak.

"Sherlock-"

The remote control flew across the room, narrowly missing John's shoulder.

"Watch the fat man on the television."

That's when John realised. His lips slanted upwards for a split second. Sherlock was _jealous. _Sherlock, being the possessive git he was wanted to be the _only _reason John laughed – which made sense because in reality although Sherlock might not know it he was the reason for pretty much everything _else _John did – John stood up, reaching for his jacket.

Picking up on the sound of rustling, Sherlock glanced over his shoulder.

"What are you doing?" He asked sulkily.

"Well, we need milk and you're in one of your…" John merely waves a hand in front of his own face as if it symbolises exactly what word he cannot find whilst Sherlock grabs his violin.

The last thing John hears before Sherlock applies the bow to the strings is "_stupid fat man". _

Sherlock is too busy wallowing in his own incapability to make John _giggle _– of all things, _ridiculous _– through a melancholic violin melody to hear John do just that: giggle.

**. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .**

"Phone." He says bluntly, continuing to walk as John attempts to pull out the phone from his – insert relevant word depicting the pair as John's still unsure what they are - Sherlock's pocket. It's an awkward task, taking a phone from someone else's pocket whilst walking. Opening the phone, John awaits the next command from his – _Sherlock. _

"Addressed to Mycroft, these _exact _words." The detective begins, eyes set on the horizon.

"Demetrius didn't escape. You freed him."

Blinking in surprise at the nature of the text, John clicks send and is unable to contain the need to comprehend this message fully. Who was Demetrius? that name wasn't on the list Lestrade had compiled of people to question. Catching up to Sherlock with a half-jog –John wondered whether anyone ever noticed that he had to take rather large strides at times to keep up with Sherlock's long legs in times like these – he placed the phone into his own pocket.

"I'm _guessing_ this is to do with the case?"

"Wrong." Sherlock replies, surprising John because when does Sherlock _not _think about the case when there is one? "Demetrius was my pet frog."

Coming to a halt, John absorbs the information, unsure if showing any sign of amusement would offend the detective. Realising his Doctor – yes _his _Doctor – has stopped walking, Sherlock frowns and refrains from taking another step. He tries petulance, they _do _have somewhere to be, but fondness is smeared all over his eyes. Damn John and his ability to dissolve any attempt at a façade.

"What _is it_ John?"

At this precise moment Sherlock's phone buzzes. John opens the message:

_It took you nineteen years to figure this out. Now do you understand why I worry about you? - M_

It takes a lot of self-restraint not to snort at the response. Instead John passes the phone to Sherlock who doesn't seem amused. Placing the phone back into his pocket, Sherlock continues his brisk walk. Glancing behind him for a second, Sherlock beckons John to follow through the darkening street.

"Come _on _John, you're wasting time."

Sherlock's already too far ahead of John to notice – he'd just made his companion _giggle, _rather hysterically_. _

**. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .**

"-Why did the chicken cross the road?" Sherlock called out the moment John entered the flat. Sherlock's sitting on the sofa; his legs are pulled up to his chest, cradling himself in a rather peculiar fashion, eyes vacant.

At first, John finds himself a little dumbfounded and unable of doing anything but slightly parting his lips. It takes a few seconds for him to establish that he's probably supposed to reply.

"Um…I don't know." Cough. "_Why_?"

"To get to the other side." The detective spits out intensely. John almost drops the jacket he's currently hanging up, the punch line was delivered with as much severity required to tell someone grave news, _really _grave news.

Disappointed at the lack of laughing – or more specifically _giggling – _Sherlock resides to the one thing he knows he can do, _deduce. _

"_Funny,_" the detective adds with interest, leaning forward on the sofa. "Or rather not funny. Why aren't you laughing at my joke?"

John sighs, quickly aware of what this is about. Not this _again_. He begins walking to his room, feeling the need for sleep more than ever. Falling onto his bed, he hears the crazed sociopath in the living room stir.

"I suppose you would have laughed if the _fat man_ said it." Sherlock's voice called out bitterly.

Little does Sherlock know that as John Watson shuts his eyes, he _giggles_.

**. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .**

Sherlock narrowed his eyes as he scrutinised the corpse laying on the ground in front of him.

"He was on his way there then tripped down the stairs and hit his head that's why there's no physical injury-"

Sherlock rolled his eyes- _Neanderthal. _Turning his head sharply towards the source of that _stupid, _stupid voice, the detective shot back a quick response.

"Anderson perhaps it's time you went back to solving things less out of your depth."

The Doctor standing beside a crouching Sherlock coughed subtly, drawing the detective's attention to the slight frown which to summarise said '_really Sherlock, we're here to solve a case'._

"Like what?"

John sighed; Anderson just _had _to take the bloody bait didn't he? Of course he did, he _was _an idiot after all, even John himself could deduce that this victim was in fact murdered as opposed to falling down a ruddy staircase. Sherlock replied monotonously, implying boredom.

"Stolen library books, illegal DVDs, overheated microwaves, a simple mathematical equation," he switched his attention back to the corpse, lowering his voice to a murmur "_Ice cream melting on a summer's day…"_

Now John knew that professionalism was expected during a case, particularly when it came to examining a body, but Sherlock seemed _so _unaware it added to the hilarity. John was unable to keep his lips in that disciplined tight line any longer, quickly adjusting his position so his amused grin could not be seen by others. Sherlock glanced up for a moment at the Doctor's back, and narrowed his eyes. John was stifling a laugh with his hand- _no. _Not a _laugh. _A giggle. A giggle? Yes a- Sherlock's eyes lit up in delight. He _was _capable of making John giggle after all-

-Bolting up to his feet dramatically Sherlock tried to delete the sporadic almost _human _stream of thoughts from his mind, bringing himself back to the case (Anderson had left the room by now, leaving just Lestrade, a half-composed John and himself.)

"He didn't trip, of course he didn't trip. The stairs are damp from the rain and lined in gravel if he tripped there would have been a sign like a mark on his shoes or dirt on his suit and inevitable broken bones due to the design of this particular staircase but no, there appears to be no sign of broken bones, the shoes are pristine observe, finely polished and by the looks of it recently, _too recently, _and his suit doesn't have a speck of dampness on it despite the fact that the stairs are covered in precipitation which means that the killer must have committed the crime elsewhere and cleaned the body up. But _why _would he clean up the body…unless there was no cleaning up to do, judging by the lack of physical assault it suggests the usage of other methods, other methods - drugs. Yes, on his arm there is a small disturbance in the pigmentation, small but visible enough to be seen by those who are truly looking, there is a slight redness and a close examination reveals a mark which confirms that the victim had been drugged through the method of injection."

Gazing over at Sherlock, John failed to hide the magnitude of his admiration.

"That's…_brilliant." _

Lestrade noticed a glint of something unfamiliar in Sherlock's eyes. John's lips quirked.

"Sherlock, you're _brilliant!" _Sherlock seemed to momentarily forget about the dead body, the murderer, even the _case, _and caught John's eyes directly.

And before he could stop himself Doctor Watson burst into almost erratic…_giggling._ It seemed contagious as Sherlock instantly joined in. Lestrade raised his eyebrows at the pair, unsure what exactly to do. Donovan, refusing to believe that her ears were correct in detecting _giggling _on a crime scene, barged into the room suddenly, and glanced up at the Freak and John Watson who were indeed _both_ giggling. Sherlock she could understand; psycho, but John? Unimpressed with their behaviour, she audibly grunted.

"_Freaks." _

**. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .**

The pair were safely back at 221B Baker Street, Sherlock wearing a scorn, John apparently unaffected. In fact, _John _was typing away on his laptop, acting as if the events of today were perfectly normal, whilst Sherlock was pacing and _pacing _and then pacing again_. _He paced the room slowly, unable to put everything together in his head. John had _giggled _– twice in the space of five minutes and it appeared to be all Sherlock's doing. What had been different this time to all the others?

"Why did you…giggle?" he asked before he could stop himself.

Refraining from typing, John glanced over.

"Giggle?" he asked sceptically, unaware that as he said this subconsciously he broadened his posture as if to exaggerate his masculinity.

"Yes. _Giggle_. That adorable thing you seem to do when you find something funny don't even try to deny that you do it because you know you do," Sherlock paused, trying to act nonchalant yet feeling his heartbeat quicken. "it's quite cute actually-"

"-Wait a minute," John stood up abruptly, a flush on his cheeks. "So these past few weeks you haven't been trying to make me _laugh_ you've been trying to make me _giggle?_"

"I already know how to make you _laugh_ that's easy," Sherlock admitted smugly, almost gloating, "and yet I seemed to have failed to make you giggle, up until now-"

"-Do you really think it's _cute_? My…giggling?" John practically vomits these words out before his brain has any chance of stopping him. His words lure Sherlock off the sofa and closer to him…_much _closer to him. Close enough that he can feel his breath on his face, the warmth radiating off his body. John's always told people that he's straight and no man has given him reason to believe otherwise _apart _from Sherlock. There's just something about Sherlock that is _so _encapsulating, so wonderful. Then it hits John, he's _attracted _to Sherlock, and Sherlock is most possibly attracted to him. Why else would he call his _giggle _cute?

It's unclear who kisses who first because their lips press together almost instantaneously with similar pressure and desire. Sherlock's not the most experienced kisser, he's only really had a few kisses- none at all recent mind you - but judging from the small groan escaping John's lips he's pretty good at it. The detective feels a wave of _something _roll through his body, causing him to impulsively deepen the kiss, nibbling the bottom lip in order to acquire further access. Mind reeling, John complies and their tongues are all of a sudden touching and tasting and their hands are roaming around each other and it's fucking brilliant. Sherlock leans further forward, backing the Doctor into the wall with more force than intended. It doesn't bother John. In fact, the intensity kind of turns him on even more, especially the way Sherlock _rips _the shirt off in a savage, predatory manner.

When they make it to the bedroom, they're both naked and Sherlock finds that despite being extremely articulate and fluent in the English Language, the only coherent things that come from his lips that evening are '_oh god', 'yes' _and '_John.'_.

Because it's _always_ been John.

**. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .**

"You know she used the plural this time?" John noted thoughtfully, grazing his fingers over those soft lips. The pair of them are sprawled across the bed, the covers revealing the tops of their bare chests.

"Hm?" Sherlock asked absently, digesting words but unable to process them because _god _John's fingers were now gently caressing his neck and it was _far _too good to think about anything else, and what just happened before was even better and how can any human being _possibly _think clearly after fantastically mind-blowing sex like that?

"Sally, she called _both _of us freaks, it's only ever been _freak_." John explained simply, wondering why he wasn't at all offended by this. Bringing his wandering hand back up to trace Sherlock's jaw delicately, the Doctor met his eyes.

"I guess…" Sherlock began, clearing his throat. "…I'm starting to rub up on you." His eyes bulged and uncharacteristically Sherlock begins to stutter nervously. His eyes search around the room, anywhere but his lover's face – they are lover's now he assumes. "_Off, _I-I meant _off-"_

When he brings his gaze back to John, he stops his incessant stuttering watching the crinkled eyes and smiling lips. Slipping an arm around Sherlock's neck, John pulls the detective closer, forehead pressed against forehead.

"You can rub up on me too, if that's what you want." John whispered in a rather casual manner, and Sherlock feels his lips tingle, his breath hitch. His heart leapt in his chest.

In less than a second, they are both reduced to giggles.

Giggles.

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><p>Hope you enjoyed it. I hope to maybe write some more but we'll see ;)<p>

Take care everyone!


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